A CHRISTMAS-NEW YEAR IN EASTERN EUROPE

In Orthodox societies, Christmas and New Year are celebrated differently. In the former Soviet republic of Ukraine, for instance, Christmas (December 25th) is a non-event. Christmas is celebrated on January 7th instead. The country works through December 31st and then goes on holiday from January 1st to the 7th.

First, a country background. Ukraine is ancient. It lies along the many routes of conquerors and the conquered. From the north came the Vikings and the ancient Germanic tribes. From the west came the Romans, from the south, the Turks. And from the east came the Mongols. As can be expected, its people are a varied lot. Ukrainians share their Slavic roots with people of the surrounding regions—the Russians, Poles, Serbs, and Macedonians—to name some of them. The Slavic heritage, in turn, comes from the Vikings. Around 1000 AD, Ukraine, specifically its capital—Kyiv—was the seat of a kingdom called Kyivan Rus. The seat of this kingdom eventually migrated north, to present-day Moscow, to form the offspring that we now call Russia.

Second, a political background. Ukraine has a tortured past. Its national anthem, for example, can be translated as “Ukraine is still standing" or "Ukraine is not yet dead.” While it implies heroism, it also conjures an image of desperate bravery. In fact, with the major exception of Kyivan Rus, Ukraine has always belonged, in whole or in part, to more powerful kingdoms. After the Nazi occupation, it became an important cog of the defunct USSR. The Soviets exploited Ukraine to the hilt. It was simultaneously its “breadbasket” as well as its heavy metal (steel) source. In addition, many of the USSR’s engineering talent had Ukrainian origins. Most of the USSR’s navy was built in Ukraine. Its space program was based in Ukraine as was its nuclear missles. Indeed, after the USSR’s collapse in 1991, Ukraine suddenly found itself with the world’s third largest nuclear arsenal (after Russian and America). One of the longest-lived Soviet leaders, Leonid Brezhnev, was Ukrainian by birth although he did not bestow any special benefits to his native land during his era. Today, Ukraine is divided. Its president is pro-West and has been driving his country towards membership in NATO and the European Union. Ukraine’s prime minister, on the other hand, prefers the status quo and stay close to Russia. The division divides Ukraine along nearly geographic lines. With Kyiv in the center, the eastern half—the one adjacent to Russia—is pro-Russian. And it can literally be heard on the streets. The dominant language is Russian. The western half, by contrast, is more nationalistic if not pro-West. Similarly, Ukrainian is the lingua franca.

Dnipropetrovsk

Dnipropetrovsk, “Dnipro,” as the locals call it, is Ukraine’s third largest city (1.1 million). It’s in the eastern half and lies along the banks of the great Dnipro river (known in Russian as the “Dnieper”). During the Cold War, it was a “closed city.” Admission into and out of Dnipro was tightly controlled. Among other things, most of the USSR’s InterContinental Ballistic Missles (ICBMs) were produced there. So tight was its security that this city of 1 million did not officially exist in any map.



Padlocks seal the new marriage

People practice different customs in their part of the world. In Ukraine, newlyweds carry on a cute tradition. A bridge connects the city center (downtown) to an island on the river.



This island, Monastyrskiy, contains the earliest evidence of human inhabitation in the area. Today, the island houses a rebuilt cathedral and one of the tallest statues of Ukraine’s most heroic figure, Taras Schevchenko. A transplanted New Yorker, Michelle, explained a custom that newlyweds engaged in after getting married. They lock a padlock to the bridge’s rails. As you can see, the city has had many newlyweds.

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APPEASING RUSSIA?

This is the same title of an excellent article that appeared in Newsweek two weeks ago. It was written immediately after Russia counterattacked Georgia.

The author, John Barry, carefully constructs his point using the lessons of history. He drew parallels with Hitler and Stalin's Soviet Union.

Nature abhors a vacuum and the United States has filled that void. Whether Americans like it or not, America, the most powerful country in the world, is also the world's top cop.

What if America does not live up to that role? Well, other powers will step into that void. Nature abhors a vacuum. This law of physics apparently applies to human affairs as well. Ignoring a problem does not make it go away. After you read excerpts of the article below, ask yourself how differently the future would have turned out if Hitler's early probing attempts were rebuffed strongly.

Let me quote the second, third, fourth, and fifth paragraphs of this article:

As those of a certain age will recall, "appeasement" encapsulated the determination of British governments of the 1930s to avoid war in Europe, even if it meant capitulating to the ever-increasing demands of Adolf Hitler. The nadir came in 1938, when British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain acceded to Hitler's demand to take over the western slice of Czechoslovakia—a dispute Chamberlain so derisively dismissed.

It is impossible to view the Russian onslaught against Georgia without these bloodstained memories rising to mind. In history, as the great French President Charles de Gaulle remarked—no doubt plagiarising someone else—the only constant is geography. And through centuries of European history the only constant has been that small countries, doomed by geography to lie between great powers, are destined to be the cockpit for their imperial ambitions. That's held true since the Low Countries' agony under Spanish power in the 1500s. And the lichen has not yet spread over the gravestones of Europe and America that mark the toll of the two European wars of the 20th century—both having their roots in struggles between rival empires to assert power over the luckless nations of central Europe.

This time, the cockpit lies further east. In the wake of the cold war, the West providentially summoned the nerve to push NATO eastward to incorporate the former Warsaw Pact vassals of the Soviet Union—presciently doing this while post-Soviet Russia was too weak to resist. But once Moscow got its breath back, anyone with historical wit could foresee a revived Russian push for influence in central Europe. Many argued against this NATO expansion, calling it "premature" and "sure to inflame Russia." The usual arguments. Those naysayers might now look at the Russian offensive in Georgia, and ponder how much greater this crisis would be had it involved, say, Poland or Hungary or the Czech Republic. At least central Europe is now under the umbrella of NATO Article 5 guarantees.

Instead, what we see are conflicts at the new margins of the West's sway: Ukraine, the Balkans, now Georgia. These conflicts have one common factor: a resurgent Russia determined to exploit local grievances to beat back Western influence—in shorthand, democracy—on its shrunken frontiers. Using, in all cases, precisely the argument (a Russian right to protect its citizens, in Serbia its co-religionists) that Hitler used in the 1930s. The Sudeten Czechs were Germans, after all. Just as the South Ossetians now are, well, sort of Russian—having at any rate been issued Russian passports.

Doesn't it make sense?

Click here to open a new web page or tab to read the original article.

The graphic came from here.